The Moon and the Firefly
by partofforever
Summary: Can one night change the past? Or maybe the future? Harry is running away from his nightmares, but they catch him in an unexpected form.


_**The Moon and the Firefly**_

 _ _The moon reflects so beautifully over the pond,__

 _ _a humble firefly compromises its existence__

 _ _by flying behind the bushes of reed leaves.__

Emperor Meiji

"I don't really like this idea," Harry said once again.

"Oh, come on, you'll have fun!" Hermione seemed delighted despite his protests and was looking at herself in the mirror, considering whether to choose a blue or rather a black pair of heels to match her new dress.

"I hope you remember that I don't __dance__ ," Harry didn't want to give up. „Besides, why do I need to go? You and Ron can handle it without me."

The girl looked at herself a moment longer, then threw a pair of blue high heels in the corner and glanced at her friend with a frown.

"How many times do we have to go through this? This is the last weekend of the carnival, don't be like that, Harry... We want you to have some fun!" She flicked her wand and snatched __The Evening Prophet__ out of Harry's hands, so he had to finally look at her. „You're sitting at home all the time. _ _Alone__. I understand that breaking up with Ginny hurt you, but you have to let it go... Maybe it's time to give yourself a chance for something new?"

Harry was silent for a moment. Then he nodded in hope that Hermione won't try to make him talk more about it. He should let her think that, indeed, his biggest problem was parting with Ginny. Well, maybe it was better that Hermione didn't know what really was going on.

And __a lot__ was going on. Harry was becoming increasingly worried. He was worse for some time now - at first he thought it was something unimportant, fatigue or a cold, but when his mood didn't improve for weeks and months, he looked at himself closer. He hasn't changed his lifestyle, hasn't started a diet, just the contrary - everything started to slowly find its place after the war, he bought an apartment, he began his Auror training. Everything he wanted to have was no longer only a vague vision, it was __happening__. Despite this, he began to sleep less. Nightmares he couldn't remember - which only increased his anxiety – where torturing him. He would wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and ready to flee, even though he had no idea from what he wanted to escape. At roughly the same time he stopped going out with Ginny. He wasn't sure why it happened – theoretically they were getting along well, they've never quarreled, and all their friends saw them as a perfect couple, but for some time Harry felt something was missing. He tried not to show it, but Ginny apparently also wasn't completely satisfied with their relationship, because one day, when he wanted to surprise her and rushed into the apartment in which Ginny was renting a room, he found her in an all too obvious situation with an unfamiliar man . Harry learned later from Hermione (even though he didn't ask her about it) that it was a Muggle shopekeeper, whose Ginny met at the mall nearby. Harry was amazed with how much he didn't care.

After parting with Ginny he felt better for some time as if he was able to free himself from something and he thought that everything will be all right. How wrong he was... Not a month has passed and the nightmares came back and although he still couldn't remember them, they were probably more frightening. He could no longer sleep in his bedroom, so he moved to the couch in the living room, and again it was better for a while. __Just__ for a while, because after a short time not only nightmares, but also memories began to attack him.

It happened for the first time when he went to the Muggle part of London to buy some books for Hermione. He knew that in addition to thick volumes of __Andanced Transmutation__ and __A hundred spells you don't know yet__ , his friend liked to occasionally read something lighter, like the collected works of Jane Austen. Harry sought this position in the Saturday afternoon, strolling quite happily through the sunny city. Using the wonderful achievement of Muggles called the Internet, he found an antiques shop, where he hoped to buy a very old copy of __Pride and Prejudice__ \- the only book the set was still lacking. Enjoying the anonymity on this side of the city Harry wandered up a narrow and not very nice street. When he entered the store, the smell of old books surrounded him; it wasn't unpleasant, but felt like home in a certain way, because it reminded him of Hogwarts. However, when he walked through the narrow corridor to a dimmly lit room, a strange feeling hit him. As if he was here before. As if he had seen this corridor. And as if he shouldn't feel good here. Harry was overcome with anxiety and was about to leave without even asking for Hermione's gift when the owner spotted him. Unable to escape, Harry quickly said what he was looking for and soon went towards the old-fashioned cash set on an equally aged desk.

Harry felt it again – he has been here before, even though the place seemed foreign at the same time. And suddenly the old salesman did something that made it all more understanable: he slightly shifted stack of papers on his desk and Harry saw a faded photograph among them. It showed a rather unattractive middle-aged woman, clearly tired of her life. However, this photo was for Harry enough to understand what this place reminded him of. He was in a building suspiciously similar to the Wool's orphanage, although it was demolished more than two years earlier. The same corridor, room arrangement, strangely depressing atmosphere - how could he not recognize this place before? There was even a picture of the orphanage preceptress, Mrs. Cole. And that desk, Harry was sure he saw it in Dumbledore's memory too!

"Can I help you with something else?" the seller asked and Harry returned to reality.

"No, that's all..." the boy quickly replied, still searching for familiar details within the room. "Actually... Could you tell me where did you get this photo?" he pointed at the photograph thrown between some old newspapers.

"Oh, this?" The antiquarian was clearly confused. "But surely you didn't know Mrs. Cole? She died some time ago, far too early for such a good woman," the shopkeeper paused. "She was a former caretaker of an orphanage in the area. When it was demolished, I managed to get a few things."

"But why?" Harry asked before he could bite his tongue.

For a moment it seemed that the man won't answer him. The silence lasted an uncomfortably long time already when he finally said quietly:

"Well, it was a part of my life. Maybe not the best one, but still significant," he looked at Harry with an unreadable expression on his face. "I grew up in the orphanage."

"Did you, sir? Can I ask another question?" Not hearing any denial, the boy continued: "How old are you, sir?"

"I'm seventy."

"Seventy?" Harry quickly did some calculation and thought how unlikely this situation was. "So at roughly the same time as you a boy named Tom Riddle lived in the orphanage too?"

"Tom Riddle?" This time the shopkeeper was clearly surprised. "I didn't expect that I'll ever hear that name again... I wasn't thinking about Tom for years! Who would have thought I'll __ever__ think about him again - he seems as distant as my youth. Actually, I saw him for the last time then. He wasn't hanging out with others, he didn't go to school with us; I suppose he liked to think that he's better... What a strange boy he was - wounded as we all were, though he probably didn't want to admit it even to himself." The man thought for a moment, then asked: "Do you know what happened to him? Sorry, if this question is too personal... Surely you are his son, I shouldn't be asking so brazenly."

His __son?__ This thought caught Harry off guard, but he quickly regained his composure and said that unfortunately he doesn't know what happened to Tom. It seemed that the old man didn't believe him, but he was asking no more questions and escorted the boy to the door.

 _ _Voldemort__. Harry must have been dreaming about him for all these months, displacing the nightmares from his memory. A face, which could be hardly called pleasant, once again appeared clearly in front of his eyes. The Dark Lord. Why was he thinking that he can so easily escape from the past? He should probably know better how such an escape looks – it's a hopeless race in which a man tries to escape from something, but in fact he's chasing after what is gone. He could expect his mortal enemy cannot be so easily defeated. Voldemort has marked him as his equal for a reason. As long as there is The Boy Who Lived, the memory of the Dark Lord cannot be gone.

But it took him a long time before he realized what was wrong, didn't it? He needed many months in which his brain played some weird games with him, making him move from a comfortable bed to the couch, and he just had to visit this decaying antiques shop to understand.

Harry thanked the shopkeeper once more and went out into the street, for a moment fighting the temptation to roam around the books cluttered rooms where Tom Riddle perhaps left a trace of some kind.

 _ _No, I shouldn't. The past should remain where it belongs - in books, diaries and old albums.__ He couldn't afford dwelling on what was already gone. So many people died, but many were still alive. Shouldn't he use his time on them? He came here for Hermione's gift, not in search of traces of people who has passed away.

Perhaps __he__ wasn't looking for the past, but everything pointed out that the past didn't intend to give up so easily. Harry anxiously remembered Albus Dumbledore's cupboard full of memories and thought that perhaps he too should sift his thoughts. Maybe not remembering would better then forgetting?

But although he wanted not to remember, from that moment on he couldn't stop thinking about Voldemort. His dreams finally took shape - it seemed to him that every night he was reliving each of their meetings; from the hatch in the floor to the meeting in the Forbidden Forest, time after time. Quirrel with his double face, Tom Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets, the deformed being killing old Frank and finally Lord Voldemort himself, pale and inhuman. After some time he was no longer sure whether these dreams were frightening or just tiring. The Dark Lord was dead, Harry was absolutely sure of it. The scar didn't hurt him for months, this evidence seemed to be sufficient enough. And his dreams? Once he knew what they were all about, he was no longer afraid so much. After all, he knew Voldemort. And if you know someone well enough, you can't be afraid.

And so next few months has passed - during the day he was living his dream, a dream of the future. Auror's training, occasional speeches and statements on issues in which wizards wanted to know his opinion for an unknown reason... But at night he dreamed only about the past, sometimes more clearly than he was living his days. Slowly he began to get used to it or at least he thought so. Only today Hermione reminded him that he has withdrawn from them all. He didn't notice, really. They were still in touch, maybe not as often as they used to be, but Ron and Hermione started a new life together and he didn't want to disturb it. Well, Harry didn't make too many friends on the Auror's course, but that's because they saw the Chosen One in him, right? It's not like he deliberately avoided them. He wasn't going out with them to the Leaky Cauldron every week, but they were getting along.

Of course he could be wrong, what Hermione suggested quite clearly. And this time her voice snapped him out of his thoughts again:

"Did you bring some clothes though? You don't mean to go out in this?" The girl pointed at his threadbare trousers and a bit messy shirt.

"Yeah, sure, let me change," Harry said, forcing a smile. Maybe he should really go out? He didn't think that a charity ball was the best choice, but at least it was organized at Hogwarts.

...

This evening the castle wasn't looking as outstanding as at the day of the memorable Yule Ball, but Harry didn't mind it. The Great Hall was decked admittedly, but the decorations were much more familiar and Harry could again feel at home.

He grabbed a glass of champagne as soon as the first tacts of a waltz flowed from the orchestra's patforms and quickly withdrew towards a wall. He was __not__ going to dance, it was more than certain. Watching the dancing pairs from a distance was a pleasant experience in a way, but being a part of this crazy vortex absolutely wasn't in the circle of his interests. He remembered his first (and actually last) dance performance with Parvati Patil with embarassement. Probably even being the Chosen One couldn't wash that stain on his honor.

Harry saw Horace Slughorn in the other corner of the room and his former teacher noticed him too. Not wanting to expose himself to the company of the old Slug, he decided to quickly escape. He can always say that he went to the bathroom, right? No, he wasn't alienating himself, never.

He run hurriedly the few meters separating him from the door, although he was sure he heard a familiar voice behind his back. Luckily Harry was younger and faster than the Potions Master, which saved him from getting to know a lot of uninteresting people and being the object of group discussions. This time Slughorn had to overcome the taste.

Seeking solitude, Harry came out of the castle. The grounds were covered with snow, so he cleared his way with his wand. The moon illuminated the lake with a mysterious glow and Harry's steps echoed on the snow. He didn't feel so good for a long time - the past was everywhere around him here, but somehow it wasn't bothering him. He spent so many good moments in school he couldn't think of those that were tragic.

Harry breathed the evening winter air deeply. The wind stirred the bare twigs of the Whomping Willow slightly and a quiet hooting was heard from the nearby owlery. Hagrid's hut was plunged in darkness, because as a member of the teaching staff he also got an invitation to the ball. Harry didn't think that any donations to the __Children of War__ Foundation could give the victims what they have lost - their parents. He thought of Teddy: when did he actually saw him for the last time? The boy was living with Tonks' parents and certainly he lacked nothing, Harry was sure of it. Still, he felt a twinge of shame. He was Teddy's godfather. Shouldn't he be a little more interested in Teddy's whereabouts? He knew from his own experience how difficult it was to grow up without parents and although his godson was surrounded by a loving family, it must have been hard for him too. Perhaps Teeddy was still too young to understand some things, but it didn't justify Harry's action or rather the lack of it. He should visit little Teddy more often.

 _ _Nobody visited Tom Riddle__ , Harry thought suddenly. He had no idea where he got that idea from. Of course he knew what Voldemort's childhood looked like, after all Dumbledore showed it to him quite accurately, and he could guess the rest based on his __own__ childhood. But somehow... He never looked at it in that way. The antiquarian claimed is was true that Riddle considered himself better and he turned away from the other children, but the old man seemed also interested in Tom's fate. Maybe there were people that cared about him, even if only a bit? It was hard to believe, looking at the Dark Lord's future deeds, that as a child he lived in such seclusion. Alone among Muggles, not knowing who he really was. _ _Just like me__. _ _We were so alike that at some point we could exchange places, but I never tried to understand him.__

Lost in such thoughts Harry came up to the bridge. A thin layer of ice could be seen at the shore and the giant squid was probably sleeping somewhere on the bottom of the dark lake. The place was so peacefull it was hard to believe that only over a year ago they were fighting for freedom here.

Suddenly, Harry noticed that he wasn't alone on the pier. There was someone else in the the darkness; someone who has already noticed him.

A tall man stood in the shadows and Harry couldn't see his features, but he had a feeling that the stranger remindes him of someone.

"It's a bit cold today, isn't it?" he tried to start a little chat, scolding himself for picking such a banal topic.

 _ _Chosen One, the master of wit.__

The man laughed in response:

"Are we really going to talk about weather, Harry?"

The boy shifted uncomfortably and instinctively reached for his wand. Something about this man rised his anxiety.

"No need to get excited, Harry," the stranger said, still amused. "I come in peace. Or maybe you wish me to wave a white flag?"

"Who you are?" Harry asked, assessing his chances in case of an attack.

"I always wondered what Dumbledore saw in you. Surely you must have some unusual talents besides that overpowering intelligence." The stranger was talking more to himself than to Harry, though a clear mockery could be heard in his voice. "It seemed to me that you have brought me here for a __purpose__."

They stood in silence for a moment and Harry felt very strange. He had no idea who stands in front of him, but on the other hand the stranger didn't seem to have bad intentions. But that mention of the previous headmaster... It sounded exactly like something Lucius Malfoy - or even Voldemort himself – could say. And Harry didn't invite any of these two. Hermione asked him about his date at least a thousand times.

After a while the boy spoke again:

"I'm sorry, it must be a mistake. I didn't invite anyone."

"You didn't...?" This time the man seemed more than surprised and took a few steps closer, so that Harry was finally able to see his face.

For a moment he couldn't exactly say why that face didn't fit this place. However the problem wasn't in the place - the problem was in the __time__. He stood in front of no one other than Tom Marvolo Riddle, looking as if he were in his twenties, wearing a black robe and clearly freezing.

As soon as Harry realized whom he had before him, he jumped and drew out his wand.

"Don't move!" he shouted, feeling his heart rate rapidly increase. "Not a step further!

"Harry, we're not in __The Three Musketeers__ , don't you agree with me?" The boy couldn't believe that Riddle behaves so calmly and is completely unperturbed by the fact of his own __death__. Had he found another way to deceive it?

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, taking another step back. He was dangerously close to the edge of the platform.

"I wish I knew," Riddle replied, looking at Harry intently. "I was sure I was __dead__. Actually, I'm still sure I had died - from __your__ hand, if I may add - but somehow I found myself here. Isn't that strange?"

"Strange? I don't know how you got here, but you can be sure you'll soon go back where you came from!"

"Heroic as usual..." The Dark Lord didn't seem particularly moved by Harry's attitude. "I suspect I will go back __where I came from__ , as you put it, when the time comes. Probably next sunrise will solve everything, as it usually happens in fairy tales."

"What are you talking about?" Harry couldn't catch hold of this situation despite his strenuous efforts.

It it's not easy to understand something like that - not every day you get a chance to face the past that seemed dead. And it's difficult to think of it as a nightmare, when it's packaged as a dream. Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort - who stood in front of him and what he wanted? Harry had to think fast, because the dawn probably wouldn't solve this problem, no matter what his enemy was saying...

Wait a second. Wasn't he thinking about how much they were alike just half an hour ago? He quickly forgot about Voldemort's sad childhood when they were standing face to face again. And yet... When he looked at Riddle, it was somehow easier to imagine that he was a child once, that he was a human being. He had never noticed how sad Riddle seemed. Arrogance, loneliness, aggression - he has seen it all in Dumbledore's memories. Slyness, striving for power, propensity to violence – he could learn about them firsthand. But sadness? He didn't see it before. Or maybe it appeared in those eyes only now?

Harry wanted to make one step back to look at it all with a little more perspective, but didn't realize he was already on the edge of the pier. He swayed dangerously and would have certainly landed in the icy lake, if someone's hands, definitely human and warm, didn't snatch him at the last moment.

Instead of catching his balance, as an Auror in training should, Harry stumbled awkwardly and soon was lying flat on the rough wood, dragging Riddle with him.

"I'm sorry," he said quite involuntarily, getting up and extending his hand towards the Dark Lord. After a moment he realized what he was doing, but he forced himself not to take his hand back.

Riddle seemed a bit surprised, maybe even more than Harry was, but finally he accepted his help.

"Well, we have some time before the dawn," the Chosen One said somehow sluggishly. "Do you have any idea what we should do about it?"

"I'd like to see the castle once more," Riddle replied briefly and before Harry could protest, he headed toward the main entrance.

They walked in silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Initially, Harry wondered how the guests will react, but he need not to be worried - everyone gathered in the Great Hall, where an auction for the Foundation has just started. Tom Riddle – fortunately - didn't seem interested in it and immediately turned into a side corridor leading to the dungeons.

"You don't want to go into the Slytherin common room, do you?" Harry asked when they stopped in front of a familiar wall. "You don't know the password."

"And you don't know where exactly this room is, right?" Riddle answered with a question, looking at the hidden passage. " _ _Pure blood. Snake venom. Heir of Slytherin__."

A door contour appeared on the wall.

" _ _Really?"__ Harry groaned. "And they say Slytherins are the cunning ones."

Riddle didn't respond to the sour comment and soon they found themselves in the common room. For the first time in his life Harry had seen a smile on the Dark Lord's face.

"I remember those armchairs! Orion Black used to sit here for hours, he once accidentally burnt a hole in the upholstery, see? And in that corner Abraxas Malfoy and Cygnus Black played dice every night, of course no one knew they were not really made of human bones, they scared a bunch of freshmen... Wait a moment, are this graduation' photos?"

Harry approached the indicated wall. Indeed, rows of images were hunging there, just like in a Muggle school, though these were obviously enchanted. He would have never thought Slytherins were so... sentimental. Students from the past waved vigorously at him, jostling between the rows, because everyone wanted to be in front. Only in one picture there was an order - the dark-haired boy at the center was surrounded by a group of students who maintained a clear distance.

"That's me," Riddle said quietly, as if not quite believing in what he was seeing. "I always thought it looked different..."

Harry didn't know what to say, so he remained silent. How could he comment on this? They already knew that you're dangerous and poeple need to keep away from you?

The Dark Lord looked at the picture for a moment, then walked toward the dormitories.

"It's mine," he smiles, sitting down on one of the beds. It looked exactly the same as the other five, but Harry was able to understand the strange possessiveness in Riddle's voice.

"Nowhere have I felt the way I did here," Harry said suddenly.

"As if at __home__ ," Riddle replied.

Nothing more was said, yet Harry had the feeling that something has __changed__ , that together they have come to something intangible, but important. And he thought it was better not to destroy it with unnecessary words.

When they left the dungeons, a tune of another waltz was coming from the Great Hall. Harry looked at his watch.

"It's almost midnight. Where else would you like to go?"

But the boy didn't get an answer - Riddle just grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the Great Hall.

"Wait! No one can see you!" Harry protested, not wanting to imagine how the guests would react to the sight of Lord Voldemort.

"Do you think somebody will recognize me?" Tom Riddle laughed. "I have the impression that you haven't invited many of my friends."

"But..."

"This time I won't accept objections, Harry. You won't be so heartless not to grant me my last wish?" Riddle asked with a smile quite unfitted for this situation, then bowed in a slightly old-fashioned way and offered Harry his hand. "Can I have this dance?"

For a moment Harry was standing perfectly still, not sure whether he heard the question he thought he heard. He didn't have time to ask for a repetition, because Riddle dragged him into the middle of the Great Hall, embracing him gently.

" _ _I do not dance,"__ Harry tried to protest, but it didn't bring the desired effect.

"Probably you never met a qualified partner," Tom Riddle answered simply as if he was neither a murderer nor his dead enemy, but rather a student coming up with a very good joke and Harry had to admit that the Dark Lord danced much better than the Chosen One.

Harry tried not to notice the guests' intrigued looks. Well, they would be even more surprised if they found out who was actually dancing with him, right? He saa Ron and Hermione, whose reactions differed distinctly - Ron was looking a bit confused, which didn't really surprise Harry and Hermione seemed extremely excited, which surprised him even less.

He had to admit that dancing wasn't as bad as he remembered it. What he didn't want to admit was that Tom Riddle – who up close seemed much more human - played a major role in it. The man who murdered his parents and attempted to murder him. What was he doing here? And what magic brought him?

There was something strangely horrifying and beautiful in their meeting, but Harry couldn't find proper words to put his feeling in them. He just danced, looking into his mysterious companion eyes from time to time, seeing that they're both old and young, joyful and sad, frightening and endearing.

They were still dancing, when the clock struck midnight.

And suddenly Harry felt that something has changed. They stopped, although he didn't know why. It was only a moment until he realized that there was something wrong with Tom. He has already looked pale before, but now he seemed almost transparent. No, he really was __transparent__ , more and more with every passing minute.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, surprised by the dread in his voice. "The sun isn't rising yet."

"Midnight," the Dark Lord replied, slightly confused "is the hour of magic too."

Harry still couldn't understand what was happening.

"It seems I'm not a nightmare after all," Riddle laughed one last time and disappeared completely.


End file.
